The White Lioness

Countdown to a Vacuum
Chapter Twenty-nine

Late in the evening Sikosi Tsiki killed a mouse with a wellaimed throw of a knife. By then Tania had already gone to bed. Konovalenko was waiting until it was late enough for him to call Jan Kleyn in South Africa and get the final instructions for Sikosi Tsiki’s return journey. Konovalenko also intended to raise the question of his own future as an immigrant to South Africa. There was not a sound to be heard from the cellar. Tania had been down to look at the girl and said she was asleep. For the first time in ages he felt totally content. He had made contact with Wallander. Konovalenko had demanded an unsigned letter of safe conduct from him, in return for getting his daughter back unharmed. Wallander would give him a week’s start, and personally insure the police search was wrongly directed. As Konovalenko intended to return to Stockholm immediately, Wallander would make sure the search for him was concentrated in southern Sweden.

But none of this was true, of course. Konovalenko intended to shoot both him and the girl. He wondered whether Wallander really believed what he had said. If so he would return to being the kind of cop Konovalenko had started by thinking he was, the naive provincial drudge. But he had no intention of making the mistake of underestimating Wallander yet again.

During the day he had devoted many hours to Sikosi Tsiki. Just as in preparing Victor Mabasha, Konovalenko had run through various possible turns of events in connection with the assassination attempt. He had the impression Sikosi Tsiki was quicker-witted than Victor Mabasha. Moreover, he seemed completely unaffected by the passing but unambiguous racist remarks Konovalenko could not resist making. He intended to provoke him even more over the next few days, to see if he could pin down the limit of his self-control.

There was one characteristic Sikosi Tsiki shared with Victor Mabasha. Konovalenko started to wonder whether it was something typical of the African temperament. He was thinking of their introversion, the impossible task of trying to figure out what they really thought. It irritated him. He was used to being able to see straight through people, read their thoughts, and hence give himself an opportunity to anticipate their reactions.

He gazed at the man who had just speared a mouse in a corner of the room with his strangely curved knife. He’ll do a good job, thought Konovalenko. A few more days of planning and weapons training, and he’ll be ready to go home. He’ll be my entrance visa to South Africa.

Sikosi Tsiki stood up and retrieved his knife with the mouse speared on the end of it. Then he went out into the kitchen and removed the victim. He dropped it into a garbage pail and rinsed the blade. Konovalenko observed him, occasionally taking a sip of vodka from his glass.

“A knife with a curved blade,” he said. “I’ve never seen one like that before.”

“My ancestors used to make them over a thousand years ago,” said Sikosi Tsiki.

“But the curved blade?” wondered Konovalenko. “Why?”

“Nobody knows,” answered Sikosi Tsiki. “It’s still a secret. The day the secret is revealed, the knife will lose its power.”

Soon after he disappeared into his room. Konovalenko was annoyed by the mysterious reply he had received. He heard Sikosi Tsiki locking the door behind him.

Konovalenko was on his own now. He went around the room turning off the lights, apart from the lamp next to the table where the telephone was. He checked the time. Half past midnight. Soon he would call Jan Kleyn. He listened at the cellar hatch. Not a sound. He poured himself another glass of vodka. He would save it until after he had finished speaking with Jan Kleyn.

The call to South Africa was brief.

Jan Kleyn listened to Konovalenko’s assurances that Sikosi Tsiki would cause no problems. There was no doubt about his mental stability. Then Jan Kleyn announced his verdict. He wanted Sikosi Tsiki to return to South Africa within a week at the most. Konovalenko’s job was to make arrangements immediately to get him out of Sweden, and make sure the return journey to Johannesburg was booked and confirmed. Konovalenko had the impression Jan Kleyn was in a hurry, that he was under pressure. Of course, he had no way of confirming his hunch. But it was enough to put him off his stride when it came to discussing his own journey to South Africa. The call ended without his having said a single word about the future. He felt annoyed with himself afterwards. He drained his vodka glass and wondered if Jan Kleyn intended to double-cross him. But he dismissed the thought. Besides, he was convinced they really needed his talents and experience in South Africa. He drank another glass of vodka, then went out onto the porch to urinate. It was raining. He gazed out into the mist, and decided he should be pleased with himself. Just a few more hours and all his problems would be over, for this particular job. His assignment was almost at an end. Then he would have time to devote to his future. Not the least significant decision he would have to make was whether to take Tania with him to South Africa, or if he should do what he did with his wife and leave her behind.

He locked the door, retired to his own room and lay down. He did not get undressed, but just pulled a blanket over him. Tania could sleep alone tonight. He needed some rest.

She was lying awake in her room, and heard Konovalenko shut the door and lie down on top of the bed. She lay still, listening. She was scared. Deep down she had the feeling it would be impossible to get the girl out of the cellar and then leave the house without Konovalenko hearing. Nor was it possible to lock the door to his room quietly. She had tried that earlier in the day, when Konovalenko and the African were out shooting rifles in the quarry. Besides, it was possible for him to jump out of the bedroom window even if the door was barricaded. She wished she had some sleeping pills. She could have dissolved them in one of his vodka bottles. But all she had was herself, and she knew she had to try. Earlier in the day she had prepared a little suitcase with some money and clothes. She hid it in the barn. She also left her rain clothes there, and a pair of boots.

She checked the time. A quarter past one. She knew the meeting with the cop was scheduled for dawn. She and the daughter would have to be a long way away by then. As soon as she heard Konovalenko start to snore, she would get up. She knew Konovalenko was a very light sleeper and kept waking up, but rarely during the first half hour after falling asleep.

She still was not sure why she was doing this. She knew she was risking her own life. But she did not feel the need to justify her actions to herself. Some things were just dictated by life itself.

Konovalenko turned over and coughed. Twenty-five past one. Some nights Konovalenko chose not to sleep, but just lay on the bed resting. If this was one of those nights, there was nothing she could do to help the girl. She noticed how that made her feel even more scared. It was a threat that seemed to her greater than any danger she might run herself.

At twenty to two she finally heard Konovalenko start to snore. She listened for about half a minute. Then she carefully got out of bed. She was fully dressed. All the time she had been clutching the key to the lock on the chains around the girl’s ankles. She cautiously opened the door of her room and avoided the floorboards she knew would creak. She sneaked into the kitchen, switched on her flashlight and started easing up the hatch very carefully. It was a critical moment: the girl might start screaming. That had not happened so far. But it could, she realized that. Konovalenko was snoring. She listened. Then she climbed cautiously down the ladder. The girl was curled into a ball. Her eyes were open. Tania squatted beside her and whispered while stroking her cropped hair. She said they were going to run away, but she would have to be very, very quiet. The girl did not react. Her eyes were completely expressionless. Tania was suddenly afraid she would not be able to move. Perhaps she was rendered immobile by fear? She had to turn her over on her side in order to get to the padlock. The girl suddenly started kicking and punching. Tania just managed to place her hand over the girl’s mouth before she started screaming. Tania was strong, and pressed as hard as she could. Just one half-stifled yell would be enough to wake Konovalenko. She shuddered at the thought. Konovalenko was quite capable of nailing down the hatch and leaving them both down there in the darkness. Tania tried to whisper to her at the same time as she pressed. The girl’s eyes had come alive, and Tania hoped she would understand now. She slowly took away her hand, unlocked the padlock, and carefully removed the chains.

At the same moment she noticed Konovalenko had stopped snoring. She held her breath. He started again. She hurriedly got to her feet, reached for the hatch, and closed it. The girl had understood. She sat up, and was quiet. But her eyes had come alive again.

Tania suddenly thought her heart would stand still. She heard footsteps in the kitchen above them. Someone was walking around there. The footsteps stopped. Now he’ll open the hatch, she thought, shutting her eyes. He’s heard me after all.

Then came relief in the form of the clinking of a bottle. Konovalenko had got up for another glass of vodka. The footsteps died away again. Tania shone the flashlight on her face and tried to smile. Then she took the girl’s hand and held it while they waited. After ten minutes she opened the hatch cautiously. Konovalenko had started snoring again. She explained to the girl what was going to happen. They would approach the front door as quietly as they could. Tania had oiled the lock during the day. She thought it would be possible to open it without a click. If all went well they would then hurry away from the house together. But if something did happen, if Konovalenko woke up, Tania would simply fling the door open and they would race off in different directions. Was that clear? Run, run for all they were worth. There was a fine drizzle outside that should make it harder for them to be seen. But she should just keep on running, without looking back. When she came to a house or saw a car on the road, she should give herself up. But the main thing was to run for her life.

Did she understand? Tania thought so. The girl’s eyes were animated, she could move her legs, even if she was weak and unsteady. Tania listened again. Then she nodded to the girl. It was time to move. Tania climbed up first, listened one more time, then reached down to help the girl. Now speed was of the essence. Tania made herself hold back so as to avoid the stairs creaking. The girl emerged cautiously into the kitchen. She screwed up her eyes, even though the light was very weak. She’s practically blind, thought Tania. She held her firmly by one arm. Konovalenko was snoring. Then they started walking toward the hall and the front door, one step at a time, painfully slow. There was a curtain in the hall doorway. Tania took great care in pulling it to one side, with the girl hanging onto her arm. Then they were at the door. Tania could feel she was covered in sweat. Her hands were trembling as she took hold of the key. At this point she almost dared to believe it would be OK. She turned the key. There was a point, a certain resistance, where it would click if she turned it too quickly. She could feel the resistance and kept on turning as carefully as she could. She was past the critical point. There had not been a single sound. She nodded to the girl. Then she opened the door.

As she did so, something crashed behind her. She gave a start and turned around. The girl had bumped into a stand for coats and umbrellas. It had fallen over. Tania had no need to listen in order to know what was already happening. She flung open the door, shoved the girl out into the rain and mist, and yelled at her to run. At first the girl seemed petrified. But Tania pushed her, and she started running. Within a couple of seconds she had disappeared into the grayness.

Tania knew it was already too late as far as she was concerned. But she would try even so. Most of all she did not want to turn around. She ran in the opposite direction, in an attempt to divert Konovalenko, make him unsure about where the girl was for a few more precious seconds.

Tania got to the middle of the courtyard before Konovalenko caught up with her. “What are you doing?” he yelled. “Are you sick?”

Then she realized Konovalenko did not know the hatch was open. He would not understand what had happened until they were back inside the house. The girl’s start would be sufficient. Konovalenko would never be able to find her again.

Tania suddenly felt very tired.

But she knew that what she has done was right.

“I don’t feel very well,” she said, pretending to be dizzy.

“Let’s go inside,” said Konovalenko.

“Just a minute,” she said. “I need some fresh air.”

I’ll do the best I can for her, she thought. Every breath gives her a bigger start. The game is up for me.

She ran through the night. It was raining. She had no idea where she was, she just ran. She kept falling, but simply scrambled back onto her feet and kept on running. She came out into a field. All around her frightened hares were bounding off in different directions. She felt like one of them, a hunted animal. The mud was clinging to her shoes. In the end she took them off and kept on running in her stocking feet. The field seemed to go on forever. Everything was engulfed by the fog. Only she and the hares existed. Eventually she came to a road, and lacked the strength to run any farther. She walked along the gravel road. The sharp edges of the stones were hurting her feet. Then the gravel came to an end and she found herself on an asphalt road. She could see the white line down the middle. She had no idea which direction to take. But she kept on walking even so. She still did not dare to think about what had happened. She could still feel some vague sense of evil somewhere behind her. It was neither human nor animal, rather a sort of cold breeze; but it was there all the time, forcing her to keep going.

Then she saw a pair of headlights approaching. It was a man who had been visiting his girlfriend. During the night they had started quarreling about something. He decided to go home. Now he was sitting behind the wheel of his car, thinking that if only he had the money, he would go away. Anywhere would do, anywhere far away. The windshield wipers were squeaking, and visibility was poor. He suddenly saw something in front of the car. At first he thought it was an animal, and slammed on the brakes. Then he stopped altogether. It was a human being, he could see that. He could hardly believe his eyes. A young girl, with no shoes, covered in mud, her hair a shortcropped mess. It occurred to him there might have been a car crash. Then he saw her sit down in the middle of the road. He got slowly out of the car, and went up to her.

“What happened?” he asked.

She did not answer.

He could not see any blood. Nor was there any sign of a car in the ditch. Then he lifted her up and led her to his car. She could barely stand.

“What happened?” he asked one more time.

But he received no reply.

Sten Widen and Svedberg left the apartment in Ystad at a quarter to two. It was raining as they got into Svedberg’s car. Three kilometers outside town Svedberg thought he had a flat in one of the back tires. He pulled into the side, worrying that the spare might be no good as well. But it was OK when they fitted it. The flat had thrown out their schedule. Svedberg had assumed Wallander would approach the house before it got too light. That meant they would have to set off early to avoid bumping into him. Now, it was nearly three by the time they parked the car behind a clump of bushes more than a mile away from the quarry and the house. They were in a hurry, and moved quickly through the fog. They passed a field on the north side of the quarry. Svedberg had suggested they should take up position as near the house as they dared. But as they did not know what direction Wallander would come from, and they would have to be able to see to both sides if they were to avoid being discovered. They had tried to guess which direction Wallander would choose. They agreed he would probably take the western approach. It was slightly hilly on that side. There were high, dense clumps of bushes growing right up to the edge of the property. On that basis they decided to approach from the east. Svedberg had noticed a haystack on a narrow strip of ground between two fields. If necessary they could burrow into the stack itself. They were in position by half past three. Both of them had their guns ready and loaded.

The house shimmered before them in the fog. Everything was still. Without really knowing why, Svedberg had the impression that everything was not quite right. He took out his binoculars, wiped the lenses, and then examined the house wall bit by bit. There was a light in one window, probably the kitchen. He could not see anything unusual. He found it hard to imagine Konovalenko was asleep. He would be there, waiting in silence. He might even be outside the house.

They waited on tenterhooks, each of them lost in a world of his own.

It was Sten Widen who first saw Wallander. The time was five o’clock. As they had thought, he appeared on the western side of the house. Widen had good eyesight, and thought at first it was a hare or a deer moving among the bushes. But then he began to wonder, nudged Svedberg’s arm gently, and pointed. Svedberg took out his binoculars again. He could just make out Wallander’s face among the bushes.

Neither of them knew what would happen. Was Wallander acting according to the instructions he had received from Konovalenko? Or had he decided to try and take him by surprise? And where was Konovalenko? And Wallander’s daughter?

They waited. All was quiet around the house. Sten Widen and Svedberg took turns observing Wallander’s expressionless face. Again Svedberg got the feeling something was wrong. He looked at his watch. Wallander would soon have been lying in the bushes for an hour. There was still no sign of movement in the house.

Suddenly Sten Widen handed the binoculars to Svedberg. Wallander had started moving. He wriggled his way rapidly to the house, then stood there pressed against the wall. He had his pistol in one hand. So, he’s decided to take Konovalenko on, thought Svedberg, and he could feel a lump in his stomach. There was nothing they could do but keep watching. Sten Widen had taken aim with his rifle, pointing it at the front door. Wallander ducked down as he passed the windows and ran as far as the front door. Svedberg could see he was listening. Then he cautiously tried the handle. The door was unlocked. Without hesitation he flung it open and rushed in. At the same time Sten Widen and Svedberg crawled out of the haystack.

They had not agreed what to do next; they just knew they had to follow Wallander. They ran up to the corner of the house and took cover. It was still deathly silent in the house. Svedberg suddenly realized why he had been uneasy.

The house was deserted. There was nobody there.

“They’ve moved out,” he said to Sten Widen. “There’s nobody there.”

Sten Widen stared at him in disbelief.

“How do you know?”

“I just know,” answered Svedberg, stepping out of the shadow of the wall.

He shouted Wallander’s name.

Wallander came out onto the steps. He did not seem surprised to see them.

“She’s gone,” he said.

They could see he was very tired. It was possible he had already passed the limit of being so exhausted, he might collapse at any moment.

They entered the house and tried to interpret the clues. Sten Widen kept in the background while Svedberg and Wallander searched the house. Wallander did not refer to their having followed him to the house. Svedberg suspected he knew deep down they would not abandon him. Perhaps he was even grateful, in fact?

It was Svedberg who found Tania. He opened the door to one of the bedrooms, and looked at the unmade bed. Without knowing why, he bent down and peered under it. There she was. For one brief, horrible moment he thought it was Wallander’s daughter. Then he saw it was the other woman. Before telling the others what he had found, he quickly checked under the other beds. He looked in the refrigerator and all the closets. Only when he was certain Wallander’s daughter was not lying hidden somewhere did he attract their attention. They moved the bed to one side. Wallander was standing in the background. When he saw her head he turned on his heel, rushed out of the house and threw up.

She had no face left. Just a bloody mass where it was impossible to pick out any features. Svedberg got a towel and laid it over her face. Then he examined the body. There were five bullet wounds. They formed a pattern, and that made him feel even worse than he did already. She had been shot in both feet, then in her hands, and finally through the heart.

They left her, and continued going through the house in silence. Neither of them said a word. They opened the cellar, and went down. Svedberg managed to hide the chain which he assumed had been used to tie up Wallander’s daughter. But Wallander knew she had been kept down there in the darkness. Svedberg could see him biting his lips. He wondered how much longer Wallander could keep going. They went back to the kitchen. Svedberg discovered a big cauldron full of blood-colored water. When he stuck his finger in, he could feel traces of lingering heat. It was slowly dawning on him what had happened. He went through the house one more time, slowly, trying to follow up the various clues, make them reveal what had happened.

In the end, he proposed they should all sit down. Wallander was almost apathetic by this stage. Svedberg thought long and deep. Did he dare? The responsibility was enormous. But in the end he resolved to go ahead.

“I don’t know where your daughter is,” he said. “But she’s still alive. I’m sure of that.”

Wallander looked at him without saying anything.

“I think this is what happened,” Svedberg went on. “I can’t be sure, of course. But I’m trying to interpret the clues, piece them together, and see what kind of a story they tell. I think the dead woman tried to help your daughter to escape. I don’t know whether or not she managed it. Maybe she got away, maybe Konovalenko stopped her? There are signs suggesting both possibilities. He killed Tania in such a sadistic fury, we might think your daughter must have escaped. But it could also be a reaction to the fact that she even tried to help Linda. Tania let him down, and that was enough to trigger off his evil tendencies, which seem to be limitless. He scalded her face with boiling water. Then he shot her in the feet, that was for the escape, and then in the hands and finally through the heart. I would prefer not to try and imagine what her last hour in this life was like. Afterward, he left. That is another indication that your daughter has escaped. If she managed to get away, Konovalenko could no longer regard the house as safe. But it could also be that Konovalenko was afraid somebody might have heard the shooting. That’s what I think happened. But of course, it could all have been quite different.”

It was seven o’clock by now. Nobody said a word.

Svedberg stood up and went to the telephone. He called Martinson, and had to wait as he was in the bathroom.

“Do me a favor,” he said. “Drive to the railroad station in Tomelilla and meet me there in an hour. And don’t tell anybody where you’re going.”

“Are you going crazy as well?” asked Martinson.

“On the contrary,” said Svedberg. “This is important.”

He hung up and looked at Wallander.

“Right now there’s nothing you can do apart from getting some sleep. Go home with Sten. Or else we could take you to your father’s.”

“How could I possibly sleep?” asked Wallander as if in a dream.

“By lying down,” said Svedberg. “You’d better do as I say now. If you’re going to be in a position to help your daughter, you must get some sleep. In the state you’re in now you’d only be a nuisance.”

Wallander nodded.

“I think I’d better go to my dad’s place,” he said.

“Where did you leave the car?” asked Sten Widen.

“Let me go and get it,” said Wallander. “I need some air.”

He went out. Svedberg and Sten Widen stared at each other, too weary and upset to talk.

“I sure am glad I’m not a cop,” said Sten Widen as the Duett trundled into the courtyard. He nodded towards the room where Tania was.

“Thanks for your help,” said Svedberg.

He watched them drive away.

He wondered when the nightmare would end.

Sten Widen stopped the car to drop off Wallander. They had not exchanged a single word during the journey.

“I’ll be in touch before the day’s over,” said Sten Widen.

He watched Wallander making his way slowly towards the house.

Poor devil, he thought. How much longer can he keep going?

His father was sitting at the kitchen table. He was unshaven, and Wallander could smell that he needed a bath. He sat down opposite him.

Neither of them said anything for a long time.

“She’s asleep,” his father said eventually.

Wallander hardly heard what he said.

“She’s sleeping calmly,” repeated his father.

The words slowly penetrated Wallander’s befuddled head.

“Who is?” he asked wearily.

“I’m talking about my granddaughter,” said his father.

Wallander stared at him. For ages. Then he slowly got to his feet and went to the bedroom. Slowly, he opened the door.

Linda was in bed, asleep. Her hair was cropped on one side of her head. But it was her all right. Wallander stood motionless in the doorway. Then he walked over to the bed and squatted down. He did nothing, just looked. He did not want to know what had happened, he did not know what had taken place or how she had got home. He just wanted to look at her. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that Konovalenko was still out there. But just for the moment, he didn’t care about Konovalenko. Right now she was the only person who existed.

He lay down on the floor beside her bed. He curled up and went to sleep. His father put a blanket over him and closed the door. Then he went out to his studio and carried on painting. But now he had returned to his usual motif. He was putting the finishing touches on a wood grouse.

Martinson arrived at the railroad station in Tomelilla soon after eight. He got out of his car and greeted Svedberg.

“What’s so important, then?” he asked, not bothering to conceal the fact that he was annoyed.

“You’ll see,” said Svedberg. “But I must warn you it’s not a pretty sight.”

Martinson frowned.

“What’s happened?”

“Konovalenko,” said Svedberg. “He’s struck again. We have another body to deal with. A woman.”

“Good Lord!”

“Follow me,” said Svedberg. “We have a lot to talk about.”

“Is Wallander mixed up in all this?” asked Martinson.

Svedberg did not hear. He was already on the way to his car.

Martinson did not discover what had happened until afterwards.